


Wake up the Echoes

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-20
Updated: 2007-01-20
Packaged: 2019-05-15 11:31:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14789690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: CJ and Danny at a Notre Dame football weekend, plus a flashback





	Wake up the Echoes

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

Wake up the Echoes

CJ/Danny, Jed

G-rated

Spoilers: through end of series

Not mine, never were, never will be, but they consume my soul

Feedback welcomed

Notre Dame Victory March

Michael J Shea, ND 1905, John F Shea NC 1906, ‘08

Rally sons of Notre Dame,  
Sing her glory, and sound her fame  
Raise her Gold and Blue,  
And cheer with voices true,  
Rah! Rah! For Notre Dame.

We will fight in every game  
Strong of heart and true to her name.  
We will ne'er forget her  
And we'll cheer her ever,  
Loyal to Notre Dame.

Chorus:  
Cheer, cheer for Old Notre Dame  
Wake up the echoes cheering her name,  
Send the volley cheer on high,  
Shake down the thunder from the sky,  
What though the odds be great or small  
Old Notre Dame will win over all,  
While her loyal sons are marching  
Onward to Victory.

Most of us are familiar with the music to the Notre Dame Victory March as played by the Fighting Irish marching band during their football games. However, if you get a chance to see the movie “Rudy”, pay attention to the a capella rendition of it. I’m a sucker for a capella harmony anyway, especially single sex groups.

The football game dates are from the posted schedules of the appropriate teams.

Notre Dame does not have a Homecoming game. To my knowledge, the alumni classes to do not plan to meet for specific games; I needed the devicefor this story.I don’t know if Notre Dame holds alumni seminarsthe way other schools do,but I borrowed the idea.

In Greek mythology, Leda was seduced by Zeus in the form of a swan. She then gave birth to the twins Castor and Pollux.Castor was supposedly the son of her husband and was mortal and Pollux was the son of Zeus and immortal.

__  
October 12, 2007  
  
CJ stirred, and realized that she must have dozed off for a bit. The last thing she remembered, they were still on a freeway in an urban part of Illinois just south of Chicago. Now they were on what appeared to be a 4 lane but not limited access road in a semi-rural setting.

It was a beautiful Indian summer Friday afternoon. They had flown into O’Hare and picked up a rental car, one of many such couples who were going to South Bend, Indiana for the Boston College football weekend. Danny had explained that while Notre Dame doesn’t have a homecoming as such (“Every home game is a homecoming”), most of the alumni classes arranged to come back for a particular game and this year, his class had picked “the Pope Bowl”. By chance, President Bartlet’s class would also be “reuning” this weekend.

Apparently, Notre Dame football was going to play a part in her autumns. Last week, they were in the visitor stands when the Irish came to UCLA, at the tailgate party sponsored by the alumni association before and the cocktail party after. Similar plans for the USC game were also on their calendar.

Of course, he was trying to be more than fair about it. He told her he would love to go to the Cal-UCLA game next weekend when her alma mater was in town. She said she would be more interested in going up to Palo Alto next month; the Game (“the only game”) was at Stanford this year. She had already participated in a round-table discussion on effective government at Berkeley during freshmen orientation weekend and had used that trip to show Danny her old stomping grounds just as he planned to do for her this weekend.

She stretched and he made some comment about Tweedledum and Tweedledee making her sleepy.

“No!” she said. “Those are not their names! It’s Castor and Pollux, or Artemis and Athena, or Apollo and Diana!”

“Better not be Castor and Pollux,” he growled playfully. “They were only half-brothers. You been seeing some swan on the side?”

“No, sir, no swans.” She looked over at him, and grinned. “I guess we really should call them Ed and Larry; they did come to visit the end of August.”

“Let’s hear you repeat that later when I’m not driving this car and I have easy access to your fanny.”

“You would beat the woman who is carrying your unborn children?”

“On second thought, I’ll schedule it for June of next year. I’m a patient man, remember?”

She laughed and stretched her left arm across the console, draped it over his shoulders, and played with the hair along the nape of his neck. It was only 10 days ago that the doctor had shown them the two little hearts on the ultrasound screen. “It’s a good thing that Abbey won’t be there this weekend. I think we can keep it from him, but she’d pick up right away on the fact that I wasn’t drinking and she wouldn’t just buy the allergies/antibiotics thing; she’d want to see the drugs.”

He reached behind his head for her hand, brought it forward, and kissed her knuckles. “Two years ago, if anyone had told me about this; even last year, there was only this glimmer of hope.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, letting go of his hand as he needed both of them to get around a semi. She rested her hand on his thigh and fell silent, remembering.

_October 2006_

Finally, she had a chance to breath regular three times in succession. The crisis in California had been averted, though not without some loss, and the situation in Kazakhstan, while still at a simmering point, was not at an imminent crisis stage. She buzzed for Margaret and then remembered that she had sent her home an hour ago, at 10:00PM, with a splitting headache.

With a huge sigh, she picked up the phone, punched for an outside line, made a note of the time on a post-it for Margaret, and punched in Danny’s cell number.

Almost immediately, “You’ve got Danny.”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hi, you.”

“So you are where?”

“Somewhere north of Springfield, debate for the Mass. First. And the fate of the world?”

“Is a bit safer, but my shoulders are so damned sore. You gonna be in town any time soon?”

“I can be, anything in particular?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, last time we were in the restaurant, right before my electronic albatross went off – "

"I think I remember."

Danny, you use words the way Monet used shading and shadow, but some things really need just the basic 8-count crayon set or words of one syllable – if I’m totally off base, please stop me now before I make an even bigger fool of myself, but if you were meaning what I –“.

Softly, shakily. “Yes.”

“Excuse me?”

Even softer. “Claudia Jean, I meant exactly what you think I meant – what I’ve meant for seven years.” Deep exhale. “Are you calling with an answer?”

“I can’t do this on the phone, Danny. When I told you I wanted to see you more, after the Inauguration, I’m sure that way in the back of my head, I maybe saw the possibilities, but you’ve moved this way into the deep end of the pool and it can’t just stay there treading water for 12 or 15 weeks.” Deep breath. “It’s definitely not ‘no’, but I‘m not sure I’m ready with a definite ‘yes’ and I really need to be with you, look at you, when we talk about exactly ‘what’ and ‘when’ and ‘how much’ and ‘how long’ and ‘how far down’ and “

“So it’s a definite ‘maybe’? I can be there in 6 hours, less than that, it’s night driving. I can be there by 4:00 in the morning.”

“And if something happens that might affect the fate of the world between now and then? That’s the reason I want – I wanted – to wait until I was out of this prison, as you called it.”

“Okay, look, I was planning on being in town day after tomorrow for a few days. You know where I live, or you can find out. I’ll be home nights. You have time, you come over; you don’t, call and let me know. If you can’t do it this trip, there’ll be at least one more before the election. I’m a patient man.”

“I know. More patient than I deserve, maybe. Listen, Danny, I want to get out of here, so, pleasant dreams.”

“They will be now, Claudia Jean.”

Three days later about 10:00 pm, CJ checked with Kate Harper. “What are my chances of being able to take a decent bath, maybe sip a glass of something alcoholic, tonight without being pulled out of bed before 5:00AM?”

“About as good as you’re going to get. The ceasefire is holding; all the players are calm, if not happy. I’ve got plans with – a friend, myself, that might involve a can of Reddi-Whip,” Kate said, laughing as she left CJ’s office.

CJ asked Margaret to get Danny on the phone for her and then to go home. When the phone buzzed, she picked up the receiver and said, “Commander Harper has given me the closest thing to a hall pass that she has in her arsenal. I can be there in 15 minutes if –“ Pause. “See you then”.

Danny opened the door to find two men in black suits. “Good evening, sir. If we might make a quick check of the premises?”

He stepped aside to let one of them inside. The other was standing in front of CJ, keeping her backed up against the wall. The first agent came to the front door. “I took the liberty of closing all the drapes, sir. Please keep them closed as long as Ms. Cregg is with you.” He signaled the second agent and the man let CJ pass into the apartment.

He took her coat, hung it on the coat tree by the door. She looked around. The building was obviously a huge old house converted into apartments. There were ten-foot tin ceilings with embossed panels. The main room was a combination living room, dining area, and kitchen. The kitchen appliances were modern. Off to the right was a little alcove that held a desk and Danny’s laptop. There were bookshelves everywhere, with books piled haphazardly on the shelves. Off to the left, beyond wide pocket doors, was a bedroom. She assumed that the bathroom was off the bedroom, as it often was in buildings like these.

He offered tea, or brandy, or bottled water. She thought that brandy might be fine, so he poured two and ushered her to one end of the couch. He took the chair that sat right angles to it.

“So,” she said. “I was telling you that I wanted to see you again, to see more of you again after the Inauguration, and you –“

Trying to make it easy for her, he added, “as usual, am a light-year ahead of you and asked you to make more of a commitment than perhaps you want to make.”

“I’m not adverse to the idea, mind you, but again, exactly what does ‘holding hands’ entail, and where does it lead, and for how long, and”

He reached for her hands and looked into her eyes. “In your words of one syllable, we have known each other for seven years. You don’t knowhow I like my eggsand I don’t know if you put the toilet paper over or under, but we each know the values the other holds. The other stuff will be a piece of cake.And tell me honestly that you never felt the fire between us. So, as to what and where, in the short run, it’s spending enough time with each other, out in the open, to make sure, and, if that works at the way I think it will, hope it will, in the intermediate run, it’s to an altar, or a judge’s bench, and to a marriage bed, and, in the long run, 50 or 60 years from now, if not longer, to a double gravesite with a tombstone that reads ‘beloved wife of Daniel’ and ‘beloved husband of Claudia Jean’. But if all you can give me now is the short run, I’ll take that and chip away at your reticence until I can have it all.”

“And I would like that short run also, but after we’re out of office.” She reached over to touch his cheek. “And in this day and age, to be talking about marriage when we’ve never even moved beyond kissing seems so strange.I’d be a fool to deny the electricity, but don’t you even wonder about?”

“You think I should take you out for a test drive?” He tried to lighten the mood. “CJ, I know you to be a truthful person and you’ve been quoted as saying that you are good in bed, so that’s good enough for me. Uh, do you want to test drive me? I can do it now if ou like, no, wait, I can’t, I don’t have anything,” he actually blushed. ”Unless you have?”

Now it was her turn to blush. “No, Danny, I don’t carry condoms with me on the off-chance that I’ll get propositioned. At least, I no longer do.” She took a breath. “At one point, I was a bit wild --”.

He put a hand to her lips. “That has nothing to do with us.”

“But that would be part of the discussion, at least as far as what we expect from each other, wouldn't it? Also, right now, I am wedded to the beeper from hell. We could be in there”, she gestured toward the bedroom, “and you could be doing all these wonderful and exciting things to me and it could go off and I would have to get up and leave. I don’t think I could bear it.”

He smiled. “At least I have you admitting that I can do wonderful things to you. What kind of wonderful and exciting things do you like?”

She smiled back. “I expect you to surprise me, you always do. After the Inauguration,” she reasserted. “Seriously, Danny, I am touched and honored, but we really need to wait until January 20th. Please?”

He stood up, pulled her up, put his arm loosely around her waist, and kissed her lightly. “Okay, your rules for now. But can I call you?” She nodded yes. “Maybe a dinner now and then, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years?”

“Let’s leave that open for now; God knows what Abbey Bartlet has planned for me.”

All of a sudden, he began to shake all over. “Danny?” she asked, not just a little frightened. “Are you okay?”

He got himself under control; now was not the time to tell her about the vague, weird, not-quite premonitions he and his sister sometimes had. “Maybe a cold coming on. Maybe someone walked on that grave,” he joked. Then he got serious again. “CJ, you do know that you can call me, come to me anytime? I mean, if something ever gets to be too much, if something happens to tear your world apart?”

“Danny?”

“I don’t know, I just suddenly had to make sure you know that. Okay?”

“Okay,” she smiled.

Then he wrapped his arms around her, kissed her deeply, stroked her neck. His right hand stroked down the side of her breast, went down her body, and very briefly, almost imperceptibly cupped her between her legs, before wrapping around her hips. He pressed her against him and her legs parted to let his thigh between them. Finally, he lifted his mouth. “Until January,” he said with ragged breath. “Yeah,” she said.

He walked her to the door, helped her with her coat, finger combed her hair, and turned her over to her detail.  
 _  
October 12, 2007  
_  
CJ and Danny were seated with Danny’s suitemates and their wives (except for Tim, of course) at the Alumni dinner Friday night. The other guys were ragging Tim about his divided loyalties. “When the game’s is at South Bend, I’m a ‘Domer,” he said. “When it’s in Chestnut Hill, I’m a good Jesuit.”

After they arrived and checked into the motel, Danny had shown her around campus, the dorm he had lived in, the chapel, the grotto. It was even more beautiful than the pictures. A couple of kids stopped to look at them, maybe recognizing that she was someone they should know, and one or two faculty members spoke to them, but for the most part, they were left alone.

CJ had been introduced to several current and former NFL players, including the one who was a judge on the Minnesota supreme court (and who had been on the short list for the seat that went to Mendoza), to doctors and lawyers. One of the Saturday morning seminars planned for the weekend was on the ethics of responsible journalism versus the first amendment and she met the other journalists who would be participating along with Danny.

President Bartlet was the after dinner speaker and he kept the speech short, wanting to give as much time for questions as possible.

Someone asked him about his opportunities, or lack thereof, to return to South Bend for games during his term of office. He told them that he had stayed away because of all the security that would have been involved and he didn’t want to spoil the experience for the rest of the fans. However, he watched the games whenever he could.

“There was this trip to Portland,” he said. “And that reminds me, I have some unfinished business with someone in this room.” He looked out over the tables. “CJ? Where are you? I know you’re here.” He spied her, pointed, and someone moved a spotlight to the table. Because the former President was there, there was some local TV and press coverage of the dinner.

“That’s CJ,” he said. “Used to be my Press Secretary and then my Chief of Staff.” There were murmurs in the audience as they recognized her and probably more than a few explanations to those who didn’t pay more than the most casual attention to anything other than Notre Dame football. “Because she’s intelligent, she had the good sense to hook up with one of us afterwards. That's Danny sitting beside her.Anyway, about six years ago, she was stupid enough to make fun of Notre Dame and as punishment, I made her wear a hat and she was supposed to lead the press corps in the Victory March, which she never did, so I think she should have to come up here and sing it for us now. CJ, get up here!”

She stood up. “With all due respect, sir, the operative word there is used to be. I don’t work for you anymore.” Laughter in the room.

“First of all, that’s three operative words, not one. Second, Claudia Jean Cregg, I want you up here singing!”

More laughter.

“You must have me confused with someone else, sir. My name is Claudia Cregg Concannon. I’ve got a California driver’s license right here,” she patted her purse, “even a genuine U.S. passport in case we decide to take a side trip to Canada.”

“I expedited that damned passport! Hey, Danny!” He stood up beside CJ. “Will you please either order your wife to get up here or find some other way to punish her for what she did?”

“Mr. President, I’m a newlywed, just over four months. Tell me, this ordering and punishing thing, how well does that work out with you and Mrs. Bartlet?” Total uncontrolled laughter took over the room. “Besides, I think that the Glee Club will do a much better job.”

"Are you saying that your wife can't sing?"

"I'm saying that if my wife doesn't want to sing, I'm not going to make her sing."

"Wuss. Okay, any more questions?"

After a few more questions, the emcee decided it was time to introduce the singers and the audience was entertained by the sound of men’s voices in a capella harmony singing several songs and ending with the Victory March and the Alma Mater.

Later, while some of the media were talking with her and Danny, the weekend organizers came up to her. They wanted to take advantage of her presence and set up a last minute Saturday morning seminar about her experiences, especially as a woman, as a high-ranking government official. She begged off, saying that she wasn’t prepared for anything like that, and besides, she wanted to be with her husband. “For this weekend, I’m just here as Mrs. Danny Concannon.”

The next morning, they were eating breakfast in the motel coffee shop when Tim joined them. “You two seem in a good mood, considering”.

“Considering what?” Danny asked.

“The commentary in The Observer,” Tim replied, referring to the student newspaper. “I guessing you haven’t seen it.”

Danny ran over to the rack where the paper was set out for anyone to take. There was an article about the dinner and a little bit about the joking that went on, but he didn’t see anything upsetting in it. Then he turned the page.

On the editorial page was an op-ed piece by an apparently angry woman identified as a journalism sophomore.  
 __  
“I’m Just Mrs. Danny Concannon”

_“The women of this university, indeed, the women on every college and university campus, are encouraged to accept no barriers, no discouragement, as we utilize our minds to the fullest. That has become easier to do as the years pass, but it is still sometimes a daunting task and stumbling blocks are still thrown into our path._

_“Last night, such a block was thrown on this campus. The woman who for six years was the face of the Bartlet White House and then for two years oversaw the operation of same indicated that she has cast all that aside and submerged her identity to that of someone else. “I’m just Mrs. Danny Concannon,” the former CJ Cregg simpered.”  
_

The piece went on for several more paragraphs.

“Simpered!” CJ exploded. “I’ve never simpered in my entire life!”

Danny tried to calm her down. “Honey, this is so bad it’s good! You and I are going to have so much fun dealing with this. At least, there will be more press at my seminar than just the participants.” He could see the gleam in her eyes as she thought about it.

At the seminar, Tim, the other guys, and their wives kept CJ in a protective huddle so no one could get to her before or during the seminar. Danny expected the local media to be out in force, but he was surprised to see that some network and cable folk, even some press syndicate people had come over from Chicago. They would probably make national, even international news.

The seminar was lively, argumentative without being nasty, and thought-provoking. When the moderator opened it up for questions, she first wisely chose members from the general audience as opposed to the press and media folks, but eventually those questions died down and she pointed to someone she recognized from the local NBC affiliate.

“Danny, about the piece in the paper this morning?”

“Yeah,” Danny said. He stepped to the edge of the raised dais and held out his hand to CJ. She grasped it, stepped up beside him and they walked back to the table and chairs. Danny pulled one of the chairs to the front and CJ sat in it. He sat on the table, behind and to the right of her, his left arm over her shoulders.

“Since I’m the former Press Secretary, I’ll do most of the answering,” she started.

“Which shows exactly how much identity she’s submerged,” Danny quipped.

She reached over and poked him in the arm. “First, I was misquoted. My exact words were, ‘For this weekend, I’m just here as Mrs. Danny Concannon’. Second, I was taken out of context. I had been asked to participate in something with less than 12 hours’ notice. I came to Notre Dame this weekend to see the place where my husband spent his college years. I would be more than willing to return some other time to talk about my White House experiences or, more important, the ‘Road to a Better World’ project with which I am now associated. Indeed, I participated in just such a discussion several weeks ago at my alma mater, the University of California – go Bears!”

“Where I was perfectly fine with being ‘Mr. CJ Cregg’,” Danny interjected.

Another poke in the arm. “Third and last, I have never simpered in my entire life. Any questions?”

“Why did you change your name?”

“Because ‘C-O’ gets me closer to the top of the list than ‘C-R’.“ Laughter. “I did it because it felt right, for me. Because I figured that with this tall body, people would know who I am no matter what I called myself. Because it's a tradition and tradition is sometimes good. Some women choose to keep their birth names; others don’t. Some use their father's name as a middle name, some don't. This was my choice.”

“Danny, did you ask her to change her name?”

“I asked her to marry me. Once she said ‘yes’ to that, nothing else mattered. Is there some deeply rooted male part of me that feels honored that she chose to take my name? I’d be lying if I answered ‘no’.”

“CJ, why didn’t you hyphenate?”

“Well, if everyone does it, by the time you get to great-grandkids, you’ve got eight surnames strung together.”

“In order to expect great-grandkids, there have to be kids. Is there something else you want to tell us?”

From both of them. “No!”

“There’s nothing to tell or there’s something but you don’t want to tell?”

“No comment.”

Unconsciously, Danny ran his thumb down her cheek.

“I have something to say to the person who wrote this piece. What you wrote is crap, pure unadulterated crap; I would be saying this if, instead of writing it about the most important person in my life, you had written it about someone who meant absolutely nothing to me, a total stranger, or even about my worst enemy. You misquoted and you twisted. Either change your ways or stay out of journalism. There is no place for it in our profession.

“For the rest of you, please understand that we found each other later in our lives than most of youfound the special person in your life, and then our jobs put an additional 7 or 8 years of waiting on us. We have twenty less years than many of you to be with each other, to share our pasts with each other. That is what this weekend is for us. Please let us enjoy the rest of it.”

“Did you really wait all this time?”

“Yes”.

“Do you expect us to believe that?”

“We don’t really care; the people who know us do.”

CJ jumped up. “Okay, that’s a full lid”.

Then, they left the auditorium and they did all the things that Notre Dame faithful do on game days. They watched the band and the team walk across campus to the stadium. They cheered for the Irish. Tim consoled his fellow Jesuits after the game. They visited the bookstore and bought things for their friends and family. Making some comments about someone’s babies, they bought some bibs. They ate dinner. They crashed the student dance.

The next morning, they were lying in bed watching the Sunday morning news shows. There were a couple of mentions about them on CNN and the Today show. They went to church and then to brunch with the group.

Someone came over to their table and said, “Did you hear what Limbaugh said about you two?”

Danny moaned and CJ said, “No, and I think we’ve had enough waking echoes for this weekend!”


End file.
